The Baker Street Magician
by Cora Lennox
Summary: Starting over after The Glass Palace, Nathaniel goes into detective work with Bartimeus in his service. Too bad London already has one famous detective... what will happen when Nathaniel clashes with Holmes over the investigation of five grisly murders?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This takes place a few years after my other Bartimeus fic, **_**Street Bones. **_**But you don't have to have read it to understand this. All you need to know is that Bartimeus did not die after the Glass Palace incident, but he never became a part of the magician community again.**

No one screamed that night, and the absence of a scream was the most sinister shriek Elizabeth Worm had ever heard. Elizabeth, like most people in London could expect at least one scream nightly- a startled mug victim, a teenage girl out walking past curfew, a drunkard surprised beyond belief by the presence of his own front stairs, a hungry baby.

But on this night there were no noises. And while Elizabeth Worm knew in her logic that she should be comforted and pleased by this, she was instead set on edge. She couldn't sleep in the silence devoid of screams, and as she peered out her third story window into the soundless night, Elizabeth couldn't shake the growing dread that the silence must mean something very large and very terrible was on the verge of occurring.

That night of the great fire, she remembered, hadn't that night been as silent as a crypt before the blaze? What about the night that Isabel Smith's five babies were all killed by a rat that crept into their cradle? It had been so silent, before Isabel's sobs started echoing through the street…

Elizabeth pulled her shawl around her thin flat chest and shuddered. Her tiny servant's room was always cold, and the fear welling in her chest just made her feel more frozen. Something about her room was beginning to make Elizabeth feel very uneasy… she was beginning to be overwhelmed by the sensation that there was some shadowy creature lurking in her closet, or under her bed, or maybe in that hole in the ceiling…That breathing she had heard, it was hers wasn't it?

Of course it was. There was no one else in the room. Therefore, there was no one else to be breathing. Simple as that.

Still, she kept her mud brown eyes directly on the door in front of her, unable to rid herself of the sickening feeling that, should she cast a glance to her side or over her shoulder, she would see some nightmare thing standing in the corner.

If only it wasn't so bloody _quiet! _Couldn't _something _make a noise? Couldn't a cat screech or a dog whimper or an owl hoot?

An involuntary shudder went up Elizabeth's spine… she made up her mind that she was going to go looney if she stayed in her room, so she lit a candle with shaking spindly hands and walked down a narrow creaking staircase into her mistress's sitting room.

She sat her candle down on a table by the fireplace and took a poke at the embers that were currently just barely burning.

Down in the sitting room of her employer, Lady Lavinia Wyndham, surrounded by a small warm glow and the familiar cheap imitation velvet red furnishings, Elizabeth smiled, and her fears and tensions left her. She was now far too awake to go back to sleep, but she was no longer worried of impossible figures lurking in the darkness.

She allowed herself a small chuckle at how silly and irrational she had been. Elizabeth knew she didn't have looks, money, or schooling, but the one quality the young maid had always prided herself on was her level headed logic.

When Lady Lavinia had claimed to see the ghost of her dead mother, Elizabeth had let her know it was only the neighbors washing fluttering in the breeze. When Lady Lavinia had wanted to spend half Elizabeth's salary on a personal medium, Elizabeth had proved to her mistress that the medium in question made the table float during séances with a series of wires and pulleys.

What had come over her? Why, she couldn't help but wonder, did something so simple as unexpected silence make her as irrational as a child?

Elizabeth sighed, picking up a copy of the _The Strand _magazine from a stack on the table beside her, and read _The Field Bazaar. _It was a story she more or less knew by heart, but it gave her comfort. Holmes, she reminded herself, _never _let his logic leave him. There was a man that would never be caught dead glancing over his shoulder for monsters in the shadows, unless he had hard proof that he needed to be.

She finished _The Field Bazaar _then picked up another copy of the magazine and started another story, this time reading of the secrets of the red-headed league. And when that one was finished she began another, and so on, until her candle had burned down to nothing more than an ant-hill of wax. She yawned, put out what was left of the candle, and began her way back up the stairs.

On the way, Elizabeth passed the door to Lady Lavinia's bedroom, and frowned when she saw that the door was open. She clearly remembered shutting it before saying goodnight to the mistress… but perhaps she hadn't. There had been, after all, a lot praying on her mind that night before she went to bed. With all her worries about whether or not she should let eager young Thomas Bartlett be her suitor, it was very possible that Elizabeth could have absentmindedly left the door ajar, and it blew open as the night went on.

With a small sigh, and the hope that her candle lasted, she went to close the door, taking a small look inside first to assure everything was well with her mistress.

All was not well with her mistress. The first thing she noticed was the overwhelming thick irony smell, a little like the butcher shop… Did Lady Lavinia have some sort of raw meat in her room? It wouldn't be a very practical thing to keep in one's room, of course, but Lady Lavenia was, unfortunately one of the most impractical people ever born.

Elizabeth walked into the bedroom to investigate further. The butcher-shop smell got stronger as she did.

She paused, and held her candle stub at arm's length. The bed was illuminated just enough for Elizabeth to tell that Lavenia was not in it.

Her frowned deepened. Was Lavenia sleep walking again? But surely would have heard something if that was the case… perhaps she had simply gone into the kitchen for a late night snack, as her mistress was apt to do. But that still didn't explain the smell…

Elizabeth turned to leave the room and go check in the kitchen when she stepped in something. She was barefoot, and it was something with the squashy, semi-solid texture of mud. That was very odd indeed…

Elizabeth slowly moved her now barely flickering candle down to her foot, and found that what she was stepping in was read and pink, with yellow spongy parts. Elizabeth, a farm girl by birth, recognized it as looking quite a lot like a sheep's stomach.

Except that it wasn't a sheep's stomach. As Elizabeth moved her candle upwards from her foot across the rest of the body, shedding light onto the wide blue eyes, the powder and cream covered white face, with black eyebrows drawn on and lips painted a cherry red, she realized that it was Lady Lavenia's stomach.

For the second time that night, logic left Elizabeth Worm. She turned and sprinted away, as fast as she could, from the ghastly scene.

She was unaware, as she bolted up the staircase to the third floor, that her candle had finally gone out.

She was unaware that the light she saw by wasn't coming from a candle, but was seeping out from under the door of her own bedroom.

Because she wasn't aware of this, she flung the door to her own bedroom open, panting with terror an exhaustion.

Then she heard breathing.

She heard breathing, and she also felt breathing. It was hot and rasping, like animal's breath. And this time, she _knew _that the breathing wasn't coming from her.

Elizabeth Worm looked up. Elizabeth Worm screamed a scream so loud that it should have been heard down streets and alleys for at least three miles.

But it wasn't heard down any street, or any alleyway. It wasn't even heard in the neighboring house.

No one heard Elizabeth Worm scream. The night continued in eerie silence.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, the sun rose on Baker Street. Baker Street was famous for primarily two things: The best detective partnership in London, and the second best detective partnership in London. The best detective partnership in London, the one comprised of the famous genius Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson, held residence in 221B.

The second best detective partnership in London resided in 203B, Baker Street. The partnership, as the sign on the door read, included Jonathan Langley, a lanky, pale, black haired boy. There was much debate and gossip over what his age was exactly, opinions ranging from a very mature fourteen-year-old to a twenty-five-year old eunuch. But one thing was for certain- Jonathan Langley was far too young to have already came from apparently nowhere (no noble birth, no records of him at any school…) and establish a business in crime investigation that would rival Sherlock Holmes himself.

Obviously, there was much supposition upon who, exactly, this person who called himself Jonathan Langley truly was. No one at all in the higher circle of life, no magician, no MP, could ever recall having met a person named Jonathan Langley, and yet the boy must have had some sort of high birth to get him the education he obviously possessed. Langley could, after all, out vocabulary even the cleverest Scotland Yard policeman. Also, it was generally agreed that no one without wealthy blood was ever as haughty, pettily spiteful, and insufferably arrogant as Jonathan Langley.

Nearly as mysterious was his partner, one Bartholomew Hayden. Hayden was significantly older than Langley. Or, as some said, about the same age. Or maybe he was older. Hayden had inquisitively playful blue eyes. Or green eyes. Bluish green, most people supposed, must be the way the light hits them… but what about when they're brown? His hair was sandy blonde. Usually.

Like Langley, the only thing that was certain about Hayden was that he was absolutely genius. Like Langley, Hayden lacked any obvious background and had apparently simply sprouted up from the cobblestones one day a readymade detective. Although Holmes had made no comments as yet about Langley and Hayden, most people assumed that he was just as clueless about his competition's background as anyone.

There was speculation that they were anarchists. There was speculation that they were wayward magicians on the lam. There was speculation that they were spies from the French.

The truth about Jonathon Langley and Bartholomew Hayden was, however, infinitely stranger than any of that. And it was best that most people never figured out what it was.

Nathaniel was reading _Hound of the Baskervilles _with a rather triumphant and smug grin on his face.

"Do you know," he asked, "How long it took me to figure that out?"

"Figure what out?" Bartimeus asked, bored. He was sifting through the large pile of newspapers on his desk, searching for anything that hinted of criminality.

"_The Hound of the Baskervilles," _Nathaniel said, casting the book aside, "I realized it was Stapleton _days _before Holmes did and _weeks _before that blithering idiot Watson figured it out."

"Very nice work," Bartimeus said with a weary sigh, "You know, though, some enjoy spending their time solving crimes that have _not _already been solved, don't you?"

Nathaniel pursed his lips, glaring, "Yes, Bartimeus," he said coldly, "I am aware of that. However, at the moment, I am lacking a stimulating, or profitable, project. I need something supplementary to keep my deductive mind in full working order."

"_Ha!" _Bartimeus exclaimed, throwing his head back. "Your deductive mind? Natty boy, you _do _amuse me so. You're rather beginning to enjoy this little playing detective act, aren't you?"

Nathaniel narrowed his eyes, "It's not an act," he grumbled. "I am quite good at this, if you haven't noticed. We've solved ten cases in six months."

Bartimeus sighed, "Poor Nat. All this cultivating a deductive mind is really taking its toll on your memory, isn't it? Here, let me refresh you regarding what you told me the day you decided to undertake this fun little sojourn into crime solving. Ahem."

The djinn morphed into a form resembling Nathaniel, only with a larger nose and large gaps between his teeth, "I usually wouldn't dirty my hands with something so crass as criminal investigation, Bartimeus, but it may prove the quickest way to earn the money to get out of this god-forsaken city."

Nathaniel rolled his eyes, "My voice does _not _sound like that!" he snapped.

Bartimeus reverted back to the form he had taken to using of late, "Does so," he said, "But that's really not my point here, Natty, try to keep that deductive mind of yours a little more focused, shall we?"

Nathaniel glowered.

"Good job. Now… I wonder _why _the sudden change of mind, Nat?"

Nathaniel turned away from him, picking up another book in an attempt to ignore the incessant annoyance of the djinn behind him. It didn't work. He sighed. It _never _worked.

"Not in a talking mood? That deductive mind of yours to weighty to talk to old Bartimeus?"

Nathaniel sighed, "Fine!" he snapped, "You want to know _why _the sudden change of mind? You want to know _why _I like doing this? It's because I'm bloody _good _at it! I like being good at things. I especially like being better at things than other people. It makes me _happy._"

"You want to know what else I think makes you happy?" Bartimeus asked, a tiny smirk playing on his lips.

"No. But you're going to tell me anyway, aren't you?"

"_I _think," Bartimeus said moving over to stand behind the chair where Nathaniel, "That the knowledge that you're helping your fellow man makes you happy."

Nathaniel glared sideways at the ground, saying nothing.

"It does, doesn't it?" Bartimeus bounced his eyebrows, "You love it, eh? You get all warm and tingly down in that icy dungeon of a soul you have…"

"Please shut up…" Nathaniel sighed, rubbing his temples. Why did he torture himself by keeping this creature around?

"Not until you admit that you are motivated by something other than a desire to one-up Sherlock Holmes." Bartimeus said, crossing his arms and turning into a fly, which buzzed in small, noisy circles around the top of Nathaniel's head.

"I _do _hate him though, you know," he said.

Bartimeus sighed, shaking his head, "I know, I know." He said, "I have always been well aware of the fact that my little Natty just can't _stand _it when someone does something better than him."

Nathaniel's scowl deepened as he crossed the room to look out of the window onto Baker Street. Bartimeus buzzed up behind him and continued his circling, "It must be some sort of complex…" Bartimeus mused, "I wonder where it stems from. It's probably because you have a teeny, tiny little- What _are _you looking at?"

Nathaniel had produced a pair of dingy opera glasses from his pocket and was peering through them out the window, "That BASTARD!" he shouted, "The GALL of him!"

"Gall of who now? Oh, Holmes, his gall, is it?" Bartimeus asked, looking out the window as well, "He doesn't look particularly bastard like to me, actually…"

"He is obviously investigating something over there!" Nathaniel hissed, "Right over there! In that house across the street! Do you know what that means?"

"Errrmmm… another riveting tale from the pen of Sir Conan Doyle?"

"It means…" Nathaniel hissed, "That _he _is investigating in a house barely five meters away from ours. That should be _our _case not _his!" _

"You know," Bartimeus said, "That there _is _the possibility he's just popping in for tea?"

A sneer crept over Nathaniel's lips. "No," he said, "He's found a case. And it's one that _I want! _Bartimeus, get back in your Hayden guise… we have an investigation to begin."


End file.
